


Frozen Peas

by LetItRaines



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Captain Swan Cocktober, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-07-28 15:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16244507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: Emma Swan and Killian Jones are not coworkers. Okay, they kind of are. Emma Swan and Killian Jones are not friends either. Okay, maybe they kind of are. Honestly, Emma’s not sure what’s up and what’s down when it comes to Killian Jones...well, that’s also not true. She knows one thing that’s up.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is part one of my contribution to CS Cocktoberfest! I hope you enjoy!

“Can you pass the peas, love?”

 

“Killian, they’re literally right in front of you.”

 

He seems shocked by that, only to look down and see that the peas are, indeed, sitting in the serving dish right between the two of them on David and Mary Margaret’s dining room table. Mary Margaret makes these damn peas for every single one of these dinners, and Killian is the only person who likes them. What Emma would give for another vegetable to be served at one of these dinners. She doesn’t even like vegetables, but she’d learn to love them for anything other than these goddamn peas.

 

She seems to be a little too passionate about the peas.

 

“So how is being coworkers treating the two of you lately?” David asks before shoveling an entire roll in his mouth. Classy.

 

“We’re not coworkers.”

 

“Bloody fantastic.”

 

Emma Swan and Killian Jones are _not_ coworkers. Not _technically_. Killian is a detective at the precinct where Emma likes to bring in the skips she catches as a bail bondsperson/ bounty hunter / whatever the hell you want to call her nobody ever gets it right anyways. They’re more efficient than any other precinct, and they have the _best_ coffee. She would know. She’s tried them all out after her years of working in Boston, and even if her hours can be hectic, she wouldn’t trade the freedom the job gives her to make her own schedule. Plus, it’s not like she’s really qualified to do anything else – GED received in jail while serving time for a crime you didn’t commit doesn’t exactly scream _hire me_.

 

So while Emma Swan and Killian Jones do, in a roundabout way, work together, they’re not coworkers. She only really knows Killian through her adoptive brother David because the two men were once roommates. And through these blasted weekly dinners at David and Mary Margaret’s that Mary Margaret insists upon as a way to make sure Emma eats a good meal every now and then without Emma knowing that her brother’s wife is coddling her. Emma totally knows, but sometimes you have to pretend to make the ones you love feel better about themselves by playing along.

 

It’s always been the three of them. Well, four if you count Killian, and sometimes the occasional new person attending when Mary Margaret finds someone else who she thinks needs a little extra care. Mary Margaret is always insisting that Emma can bring someone if she’d like, but it’s definitely not the place to bring a date if you want them to go out with you again. Emma’s never brought anyone, and she definitely doesn’t plan on changing that. Not that she really dates, _not anymore_. Not after Neal and the frame job and the jail time and all the other crap she’s ever been through. It’s been a long time since she’s even thought of wanting anything serious, past scars still bright red against her skin, so it’s not like she’s going out and finding nice guys who wear khaki pants and call their mom at least twice a week just to chat.

 

She prefers black leather.

 

“I feel like,” David continues in his pleasant dinner conversational tone, “the two of you would be fantastic crime fighting partners.”

 

“I feel like it’s a good thing that we’re not.”

 

“Aye, Swan and I here never agree on anything. Did you know she doesn’t like peas, Dave? Preposterous.”

 

And so goes almost every one of their dinners.

 

Three days later Emma’s walking into one of her usual bars to catch this scumbag of a guy who skipped out on his bail, leaving his wife out of money and out of a husband. Of course, that last part is a blessing in a not so good disguise because if she’s got a husband who will commit a crime, skip out on bail, and then proceed to go on a Tinder date with Emma, the woman would catch a break leaving the guy.

 

Catching him is easier than it should be, but that tends to happen when she slides into a skin-tight dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, boobs pushed up so that they’re almost unnaturally high as they practically spill out of the fabric. It’s sad, but men are simple. Give them something to look at, particularly a pair of tits, and they’ll practically be putty in your hands.

 

When she walks into Killian’s precinct, he’s the only officer in the bullpen, and even if it’s not his job to process the guys she brings in, he’ll do it anyways if it’s a slow night.

 

Tonight seems to be a slow night.

 

After her guy is put away and Killian is back at his desk going through what looks like a stack of hella boring paperwork, she fixes both of them a cup of coffee before saddling over there to prop herself up on the corner of the wood of his desk.

 

“You know, Swan,” Killian grins, not bothering to look up at her yet, smooth British accent practically rolling off his tongue as her coffee rolls down hers, “this is my favorite of your dresses. It fits you quite well.”

 

She just rolls her eyes, used to his incessant flirting when she comes in. “Is it now?” she teases, knowing that he’s having a difficult time not perusing her body with his gaze. Like she said earlier, give a man something to look at, particularly a pair of tits, and they’ll practically be putty in your hands.

 

“Mmmm,” he mumbles, hand finding its way to the bare skin of her calf, a shiver running through her entire body that she struggles to not make obvious because _damn that feels good_ , “you know that I love a woman in red.”

 

His hand continues to inch up her calf until it finds itself resting on the inside of her left thigh, fingers tracing a pattern that she can’t make out, but he might as well be burning the patterns of his fingertips into her skin. “I get off in an hour, darling,” he whispers against her skin, having leaned down to kiss her leg, tongue running against the twitching muscle there. She has to hold back a whimper. His breath is warm and soft against her thigh, and the heat she feels from it pools at the apex of her thighs without her permission. “Would you like to wait here or meet me at my place?”

 

“What makes you think I’m going to go home with you?”

 

Killian just raises an eyebrow, indignant look on his face like she could ever have any other plans than going home with him. She wasn’t lying earlier when she said this precinct had the best coffee and was the most efficient. Those are both truthful statements. But there were definitely some things that she left out. Most of all the fact that every time she comes in with someone who’s missed their trial, she leaves with a certain detective with unruly dark hair and blue eyes that fill your dreams.

 

But not her. She doesn’t dream of his eyes. Definitely not.

 

She might be a liar.

 

It’s probably a good thing she’s not a cop.

 

“The blush gracing your chest is a pretty good indicator.”

 

He looks so smug, arms crossed in a way that make his muscles flex under his sweater and a cheeky grin on his face that just screams _you’re coming home with me and we both know it_.

 

He’s always telling her he’s a gentleman. _Gentleman, my ass_ , she thinks.

 

“You’re too damn confident for your own good, Jones.”

 

“I thought you liked that about me.”

 

“Eh,” Emma shrugs, hopping down from her spot on the desk, heels clacking against the tile floor, before leaning down to whisper in his ear, pressing a kiss right behind his lobe before she speaks, “you’re okay, but you can feel free to take me home with you when you get off…and then maybe you’ll _get off_.”

 

She tries to keep a straight face when she makes the joke, voice low as her lips brush against his skin, but he has a way of keeping her off-kilter, so she can’t help it when she giggles after making the joke. That giggle turns into a moan when he palms her ass, squeezing the firm skin there, before slapping it and pushing her on her way out the door.

 

When she walks away, she turns back to see him sitting there with some kind of fuck-struck look on his face, tongue running across his bottom lip as he watches her sway her hips with her steps.

 

He can do wonderful things with that tongue, and her heartbeat quickens at the thought of it. She’s sure the man can hear it from across the room.

 

By the time the hour passes and Killian’s shift finishes, her body has calmed down a bit, the anticipation the only thing that’s kept her antsy as she scrolls through her phone in the precinct lobby. Before she knows it, Killian is walking through the glass double doors, leather jacket draped over the black of his sweater that she loves.

 

Woah. That she loves? Even if she’s just talking about a sweater that may be taking it too far. No, _definitely_ taking it too far…right?

 

“You ready to go, love?”

 

She doesn’t say anything, just gets up from her spot on the couch and leads him out the door, the night sky an inky black mixed in with the streetlights and neon signs of downtown, to where she knows his car is parked. He’s got his hand pressing against the small of her back, warmth permeating through the fabric of her dress as his fingers slowly reach down to cup the top of her ass.

 

She thinks they’ll have a silent ride to his apartment, but as soon as they’re both in the car he’s on her, lips crashing against her so roughly that their teeth clang against each other, painful if not for the pang of desire that runs straight to her core when his tongue forces its way to the inside of her mouth.

 

When he kisses her like this, she thinks she might melt. His tongue is hot against hers, a slick slide that has her practically writhing out her skin. Killian anchors his hand into her hair so that he can tilt her head to deepen the kiss, his tongue plunging further into the depths of her mouth. It feels so fucking good, like pure liquid pleasure, that she thinks she never wants this to stop. She never wants him to stop.

 

But they’re in public.

 

“Killian,” she moans into his mouth, biting his bottom lip when his fingers run over her nipple through the fabric of her dress, frustration building in her at the lack of skin to skin contact until he pulls the fabric down, exposing her to him, another rush of desire already coursing through her before he even touches her. He just hums in appreciation, rolling the nipple between his thumb and his index finger as he kisses her jaw and down her neck, paying special attention to flick his tongue just behind her earlobe, a thing she’s relished ever since he figured that out.

 

“Killian,” she repeats, rolling her head back to give him more access to her despite her protests. She can’t help but shiver at his ministrations, her body tingling with all of the attention it’s being paid. “We need to go to your apartment. We can’t –” she gasps, breath hitching when he sinks his teeth into her collarbone, “ – we can’t do this here.”

 

She thinks that maybe he won’t stop, that he’ll risk being caught in the parking garage right next to the station, but then he pulls back from her, running his thumb across the apple of her cheek in a move that’s far too sweet for what he was just doing to her.

 

“I’ve just missed you, darling.”

 

His breath is deep and heavy, so much like in the aftermath of his orgasm, and just the thought of him spilling himself into her has her squeezing her thighs together in search of the friction he’s not giving her.

“You saw me three days ago.”

 

“In which I sat a respectable distance away from you and refrained from ogling your ass in those _delightful_ jeans because you don’t want your brother to know that sometimes we, how do you say, fuck each other’s brains out.”

 

She slaps his chest, more forceful than she intends to, but he can handle it. He likes when she’s forceful. “Do _you_ want him to know?”

 

“If it means I can kiss you in public then yeah.”

 

She doesn’t want to have this conversation right now. They’ve had it one or two times too many before, and she’s not in the mood to think about her emotions and feelings right now. She’s in the mood for him to take her up against the inside of his front door, thrusting inside of her with a force that’ll leave her sore for days, because it’s almost painful how much she wants him right now, and she doesn’t think she can even make it back to his bedroom.

 

They’re not dating, not officially. It’s just sex. Well, that’s not entirely true. It started as just sex, but when does that ever work out?

 

They’d known each other since Emma was nineteen and went to visit David in college. David had lived with random roommates for two years, but he met Killian in a United States History class, the irony not lost on the Brit, sophomore year and found an apartment with he and another guy their junior year of college. Every time Emma had some time off or was between jobs – she jumped around work frequently when she was younger, never really wanting to settle on anything after being literally confined – she’d make the hour drive to stay with David for a few days. Except staying with David also meant staying with Killian, and the man made her feel off balance, obvious innuendos and flirtations spilling from his lips without hesitation...at least, most of the time.

 

_“Swan,” he greets, mouth ticking up on one side as he leans against the door frame, not opening the door enough for her to see inside the apartment, “fancy seeing you here, lass.”_

_“Jones,” she tries to peak around him, but he’s too tall for her to see past, “It’s fucking cold. Can I come in?”_

_“What’s the magic word?”_

_She is going to murder him and bury him in the snow._

_“Please,” she grits out, trying not to grind her teeth._

_“That wasn’t the word, but it’ll do.” He finally swings the door open, revealing the cleanest apartment ever inhabited by three guys in college in the history of the world._

_“Where’s David?”_

_“He’s on a date. I imagine he won’t be back until the morning.”_

_“Shit. I’m just going to go then and come back tomorrow.”_

_She’s already walking out the door, bag thrown over her shoulder, when Killian grabs her wrist, pulling her back so that she doesn’t immediately walk out the door. With his free hand he reaches up to scratch behind his ear before speaking. “Stay.” A pause as he contemplates his next words. “Stay with me. I’ve got some episodes of The Office recorded and a pizza on the way. It’d be ridiculous for you to go home this late, especially with the weather being like it is. You can sleep in David’s room.”_

_“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”_

_“Why ever not?”_

_“David’s not here, and I barely know you.”_

_“The name’s Killian Jones, age twenty one, criminal justice major. I have one older brother. I like comedy shows, the European kind of football, rum, and just regular old pepperoni pizza. That’s what we’re having tonight. But what’d I’d like most of all is to get to know Emma Swan.”_

_He’s got a goofy grin on his face, and she refuses to think that he’s cute._

_“Emma Swan,” she says after dropping her backpack and putting out her hand to greet a man she’s sort of known for months now, “age nineteen, I practice actual criminal justice in a roundabout way. I have one older brother. I like comedy shows, no kind of football, rum but more often whiskey, and just regular old pepperoni pizza so I hope you have enough of it tonight.”_

_“So you’re staying?”_

_“I’ll stay.”_

_The two of them end up watching those Office recordings while stuffing their mouths with pizza. Killian had ordered two boxes, and she can’t help but wonder how someone as fit as him was planning on eating all of that himself. She doesn’t ask him, though, not sure she really wants to know the answer, and focuses on watching Jim and Pam dance around each other._

_“Do you think you could do that?” she asks, waving her slice of pizza at the TV._

_“Do what?”_  


_“Pine after someone you see all the time even though she’s kind of unavailable?”_

_“I think I’d do anything to keep the girl I like around, even if it kills me.”_

 

But it wasn’t when they met that this whole thing started. If she had been sleeping with one man for almost ten years, she would expect it to be something a little different than fucking in bar bathrooms and late nights after they both get off of work, slipping away from the crowds and slipping into each other. No, that had only been going on for two years, so it was something else entirely. Because two years isn’t a big deal, right?

 

And if it doesn’t just happen in bar bathrooms and late nights, that’s not a big deal either, right?

 

It was David’s twenty-eighth birthday when it all happened for the first time, and Mary Margaret insisted that they all go out to celebrate. The woman was as pure as the driven snow, but she always sat around happily taking care of everyone else when they got a little too heavy handed with their poison of choice.

 

“Fancy seeing you here, Swan.” Emma was at the bar getting a round of beer for David and the rest of the guys at the table, having offered to get away from one of David’s coworkers, Walsh, who was creeping her the fuck out with his wandering eyes and even more freely wandering hand. So she was happy to get some air, only to come in contact with the man who could out flirt any of the guys at the table.

 

“Jones,” she begins, turning to see that he is _right there_ , blue eyes only inches from her own. Talk about a lack of personal space. She could practically feel his chest against hers. “It’s my brother’s birthday. Where else would you expect me to be?”

 

“Maybe with that boyfriend of yours.”

 

Was he jealous? No, he couldn’t be. That was ridiculous. They were friends, and even _that_ was pushing it, who only saw each other when around David. But the tone of his voice, harsher than normal, surprised her, as well as the clench of his jaw. Frankly, it was kind of hot the way the sharpness of his jaw intensified with the apparent irritation simmering below the surface.

 

“Not that it’s any of your business,” the bartender placed the beers she’d asked for minutes ago in front of her, “but we broke up.”

 

He studies her for a moment, eyes quickly flickering down to look at her dress before focusing his attention on her eyes. It was so quick most people wouldn’t notice, but Emma did.

 

“Ah, you were too much woman for him then, love?”

 

She laughs at that, bitterness that she’s tried to keep under wraps seeping through. “No, not enough apparently. Not enough that he had to go find another woman to fuck while I was busy working.”

 

She knows that if she looks up at Killian, his face will show pity. They all do, and she’s stopped talking about her last boyfriend just to avoid seeing that face on people. She _hates_ it almost as much as the fact that she’s been betrayed by men one too many times.

 

Emma doesn’t get the chance to look up, though, because suddenly the lack of personal space between she and Killian has diminished further, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he whispers, “would you like to have a chance to show just how much of a woman you are?”

 

She has to fight the shiver that threatens to run through her, heat pooling deep in her belly, because _fuck_. Killian has always flirted with her but _never_ like that. That was direct and arousing, the heat of his breath causing the hairs of her neck to stand at attention, and suddenly she can’t help but think about what it would be like for him to have her pressed up against the storage room wall as he pounds into her with abandon.

 

Except that’s her brother’s best friend she’s thinking about, and while David is a healthy man, that might make his heart give out.

 

“Please,” Emma rolls her eyes, tilting her head back to get some space between the two of them so that she can breathe, “you couldn’t handle it.”

 

Killian taps his finger against his lips, both in invitation and in contemplation. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

 

She’s going to pounce on him then, the alcohol and the lust running through her veins at lightening speed, but as soon as her fingers are carding through his hair, a groan already rumbling through his chest at the contact, her lips a hairsbreadth away from his, she hears David talking to her.

 

“Emma, what’s taking you so –” The two of them spring apart from each other, bodies crashing into the people around them to try to get some space. “ – what’s going on here? Killian, when did you get here?”

 

Her breathing is too labored to answer, still trying to catch her breath as her mind whirls about what just happened – or what almost happened – so she’s thankful that Killian is quicker on his feet. “Just got here a few minutes ago, Dave.” He moves to put his arm around Emma’s waist, a move that is pushing his luck even if she was about to very willingly stick her tongue down his throat. “Saw our Emma here at the bar and figured I’d catch up on what’s new with her before joining everyone else.”

 

David seems to be placated with the answer, both of them plastering smiles on their faces like the damn Cheshire Cat. Killian’s hand has managed to find its way to the bare skin exposed by the cut out of her dress, the light touch against her skin a sensation that’s in the torturous place between not enough and just right. He’s obviously decided that he’s going to drive her wild tonight, whether that be in his normal way or in a new way that she’s suddenly desperate for.

 

Throughout the rest of the night, Walsh still continues to ogle her with his eyes, but his unwelcome hands stay far away. Instead replaced by Killian’s surprisingly more welcome ones. He’s constantly touching her, driving her insane in anticipation of something she’s not really sure is even happening yet. He makes it look friendly to the rest of the table, an arm over her shoulder, fingers playing with the tips of her hair as he tells a story about some idiot who he arrested, or whispering in her ear just because it’s difficult to hear over the music playing through the speakers. But under the table his hand finds its way to her bare thigh, slowly inching its way up so that it rests just under her skirt. But it never goes further, just a continuous repetition of his hand moving from the underside of her knee to the top of her thigh. On top of that, the things he’s whispering in her ear, while to those around them may seem friendly, are most definitely not. They’re dirty little things about what he’d like to do to her later, the explicitness rising with every glass of rum he consumes. By the time it’s two in the morning and everyone is getting ready to leave, she’s desperate to relive the tension that’s built up. She’s desperate to get some friction, and she’s desperate for her brother’s best friend to be the guy who does it.

 

It’s not her brightest idea, far from it actually, but when Killian offers to share a cab with her, she doesn’t hesitate, sliding into the backseat and only telling the driver one address.

 

Killian doesn’t make another move while they’re in the cab, and suddenly Emma’s rethinking everything that’s happened so far that night. There’s no way she could have misread the signs, she’s sure of it. The man literally told her that he wants her to ride him later, and he sure as hell didn’t mean just sharing a cab. But it’s like Killian is suddenly further away from her than he’s ever been before.

 

“Calm down, Swan,” he speaks suddenly, reaching over to grab her knee, pad of his thumb moving back and forth over her skin. “I just don’t want to do anything untoward with the driver right there.” He leans toward her, lips against her ear again and spiced rum scented breath against her skin. “I still bloody want you.”

 

The words may have been used to calm her, but her breath hitches before her heart begins beating at a rapid pace, almost like it’s going to beat right out of her chest.

 

When they get to her apartment, Killian climbs out of the cab, grabbing her hand to pull her along with him as he leans forward to swipe his card through the reader. No further words are spoken between the two of them as Emma leads him up to her apartment, suddenly wishing there was an elevator instead of several flights of stairs. Killian just follows along, hands somehow always touching her, but never in the way that she wants them to.

 

That changes when she unlocks her door, taking the key out of the knob and not even having both feet inside the threshold before Killian is pushing her inside and pushing her back into the front door, slamming it shut with the force of his body against hers. Killian swallows her gasp with his lips, mouth plundering her own with an intensity that she should have expected but never could have prepared for.

 

Fuck, he’s a good kisser. He tastes like the rum she smelled on his breath earlier, and even though it’s not possible she feels like she could get drunk off of it, off of him.

 

Emma wraps her arms around his neck and tilts her head to the side so that the kiss can grow deeper, her tongue edging into Killian’s mouth as his makes its way further into hers, hips pressing against each other in a slow grind as their mouths move quickly. She’s always thought he was attractive, there’s no way she couldn’t, but as his beard rubs marks into her skin while he kisses her, the roughness of it a welcome burn against the softness of his lips, she wonders how she was always so unaffected by the piercing eyes and stubble covered cheeks and the flirtatious come ons that accompanied him.

 

Maybe she never was.

 

“Gods, Emma, darling,” he groans, pulling back to run his lips down her neck as he pushes his hips further into hers, the feeling of how much he wants her pushing up against her stomach through the material of his jeans. It feels so goddamn good. If she wasn’t absolutely desperate for him before, just a touch of his hardness has her belly filling with a longing she almost can’t stomach. “You,” kiss behind her earlobe, tongue wetly dragged around the shell, “are,” bite at her pulse point, “the,” tongue dragged painstaking slow along her throat, “most,” hot, open mouthed kisses at the juncture between her neck and her shoulder, “beautiful,” a kiss at her collarbone, “woman,” a kiss against her lips, mouth moving slowly before he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, “I’ve ever seen.”

 

The way he’s working her up almost has her miss the compliment he’s paying her, but only almost, and she’s not here for emotions tonight. So she snakes her hand down between their bodies, the hard lines of him, quintessentially and wonderfully male, pressed up against the softer lines of her, until she can grab his cock through his jeans, making Killian release her lips as he tilts his head back in a guttural groan that almost has her come right there.

 

That would possibly be the most disappointing orgasm of her life.

 

“Would you,” Emma begins, running her hands up his torso to slip underneath his black jacket, pushing it off his shoulders as she runs her own set of open-mouthed kisses on the side of his jaw, “like to continue talking or move on to some more enjoyable activities?”

 

“The enjoyable activities, definitely,” he tells her, crooked smile on his lips as he reaches around to find the zipper on the back of her dress, tugging it down until the straps fall off her shoulders, exposing the tops of her nipples to the coolness of the air conditioning and the heat of Killian’s gaze. “Though I must tell you that you should wear this dress more often. I quite fancy taking it off of you.”

 

At that he leans down, taking one pink bud into his mouth, nosing down the material of her dress until it’s firmly in his mouth as he rubs her other nipple to its peak with his thumb and his pointer finger. It feels so damn good, the sensations traveling through her entire body. “Oh,” she gasps, shocked when he harshly clamps down, body moving back to rest against the wood of the door so that her legs don’t fall out beneath her. He’s a mixture of pleasure and pain, and she’s not sure which she wants more.

 

“You think you’ll be good enough for me to let you do this again?”

 

He stops his ministrations then, his mouth making a popping noise when he releases her, so that he can raise a singular eyebrow at her, look of challenge evident on his face. “I know it, _darling_.”

 

His mouth moves to her other breast, and she can do nothing but run her fingers through his hair and yank him further into her as she arches her back, his sucking becoming more insistent the harder she pulls at him. “Your breasts are fucking gorgeous, love,” he moans against her skin, the vibrations shooting heat to her core. She is almost uncomfortably wet. “I could stay buried in them all day.”

 

“Fuck, Killian,” she gasps as his tongue circles her nipple, already so sensitive to the touch from the way he’s working her up, “I can think of somewhere else you’d much rather be buried in.”

 

It sounds a bit like a joke about a funeral, but can you really blame her when she’s so turned on she’s surprised she can even remember the English language?

 

At that, her back is no longer against the door. Instead she’s being thrown over Killian’s shoulder, his strength surprising, as he carries her down the hallway like he knows where the bedroom is.

 

He smacks her on the ass when she protests being carried, and she finally decides she wants _both_ the pleasure and the pain.

 

In minutes the rest of her dress is shed and his jeans are in the corner of her room, boxers and t-shirt following closely behind it. Killian’s mouth never leaves hers, only moving away for air or to maneuver them back against the mattress, his breath heavy as he kisses down her stomach, holding her down from pushing up into him by the weight of his forearm.

 

For as impatient as he’s been, _or maybe that was her_ , he sure is taking his sweet time teasing her, nipping at her thighs and her hips, close but nowhere near where she wants him. He’s trying to drive her fucking crazy. So like before, she reaches down between them, pulling him up until she can grab onto his rather impressive length, twisting it harshly until his eyes snap to hers, the usual blue now blown black with desire.

 

“Killian Jones,” Emma grits out, now tracing along the vein on his underside with her forefinger, tampering down the sudden urge to lick a stripe up that same vein, “if you do not get a condom out of the drawer and fuck me within the next sixty seconds I’ll – ”

 

“You’ll?” he interrupts, raising that damn eyebrow again as he crawls above her to grab the foil package, his rigid hardness brushing against her folds ( _fuck that feels good_ ) as he leans over her, carefully ripping it open before rolling it down himself.

 

“Just get inside me _please_.”

 

She’s begging, and she doesn’t even care.

 

“As you wish.”

 

At that, he lines himself up to her, coating his tip with the wetness of her folds, a continual teasing despite her almost threat that has her back arching off the bed, before pushing into her in one quick motion, the shock of the sudden fullness causing all of the air to rush out of Emma.

 

_It feels fucking amazing._

 

“You okay?” he asks, looking down at her with eyes full of more concern than he has any right to, completely still inside of her when all she wants is for him to move and fuck her into the mattress and into a state of oblivion.

 

“I’d be better if you’d move,” she whines, lifting her hips up as she pulls his lips down to hers, needing him to shut up while also feeling something to soothe the ache that’s definitely painful now at being so close to getting what she wants.

 

He’s a good listener, she’s always known that despite their casual friendship, and he’s a good listener here, pulling out slowly, her walls already fluttering at the movement, only to quickly thrust back in, a rapid pace that’s not quite rapid enough.

 

“Faster,” she tells him, moving her legs to wrap around his ass, causing him to sink deeper inside, a pleasure that’s driving her insane in the most delicious of ways. He listens yet again, promptly pumping himself into her heat at a furious pace that she wants him to keep doing for as long as possible. He keeps going like that before lifting her right leg over his shoulder, and _oh my god_.

 

“Oh fuck,” she moans at the same time Killian mumbles a “bloody hell,” moving to interlace the fingers of their left hands above her head as he continues thrusting into her, his pulsing cock dragging against her walls.

 

He’s a bit of a talker during sex, moaning and grunting different versions “you feel so fucking good around me, darling” or “you like that, love” when he angles his hips a certain way and a gasp racks her entire body and her pulse echoes in her ears when he gets into a perfect rhythm.

 

She thinks she might die, though, when he lets go of her hand and grabs onto her hips to steady himself, continuously bottoming out before slowly, _torturously_ sliding out of her and then slamming back in. “You’re a bloody siren, Emma. I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted you, but I’m sure you can _feel_ it.” He slams into her then, changing the pace before slowly pulling out. “And then I saw you at the bar tonight, that sinful red painted on your lips while those glorious tits I’ve got a newfound appreciation for practically spilled out of the dress. You’re a marvel, really. A marvel who’s driven me to madness with how much I’ve wanted...ah fuck, that’s good.”

 

Is she panting? Oh god, she’s panting. Killian runs his tongue across his bottom lip as he stares down at her, and it makes her squirm beneath him until his grip tightens on her hip and her thigh to hold her steady.

 

She knows he must be verging on getting close when he slows down, releasing her right hip so that he can touch where they’re joined, rubbing at her clit in fast hard motions that have her heart beating faster than she thinks it ever has before. With her encouragement he begins to move more quickly, both his cock and his hand, and as her walls start to flutter, an orgasm fast approaching as her entire body turns into jelly, he just fucks her through it, not slowing down until he joins her in that bliss that blocks out all of your problems for just a moment of pure pleasure.

 

Emma’s just lying in the bed, sated and ready to fall into a slumber when Killian pulls out of her, the sensation against her sensitive core causing her to whimper, making his way over to the trash bin to dispose of the condom. It’s only when he settles back down onto the bed, shifting the mattress, that she opens her eyes to the reality of what they’ve just done.

 

“Oh fuck.”

 

“I believe that’s what we just did, love.”

 

“No, fuck, Killian,” she repeats, sitting up and getting out of the bed to pace back and forth, remembering to go pee in the middle of one of her strides. When she comes back to the bedroom, Killian’s still sitting in her bed, arms crossed and rested behind his head, not a stitch of clothing on. Now that she knows exactly where his chest hair leads she may never be able to look at it without thinking of how he feels inside of her. “We just, you know, did _that_ , and we sure as hell shouldn’t have done that.”

 

She’s freaking out, and he’s as calm as she’s ever seen him. The bastard has the audacity to smile. “Did you not have a good time? Because I was getting the impression that you –”

 

She doesn’t let him finish, slapping him on the chest with every bit of force that she intended.

 

“Killian,” Emma pleads, ruffling through a draw to find a t-shirt to wear after suddenly feeling modest, the realization that she’s still on full display to him coming to her as his eyes watch her breasts as she talks, “you and I cannot be a one-night stand. We see each other all the damn time. You’re David’s best friend, and even though it’s none of his business what you and I do, he’ll care that you fucked his sister.”

 

“So we don’t tell him.”

 

“We don’t tell _anyone_.”

 

“Swan,” Killian placates, getting up from his spot on the bed to slip his boxers back on, finally covering himself up so that she doesn’t have to stare at… _everything_ while they have this conversation, “calm down. No one has to know. And as much as I’d like a repeat performance because you are bloody wonderful, I assure you, I can go on pretending like this never happened if that’s what you want. I don’t want anything that you don’t.”

 

So they go on pretending like it never happened, Killian sleeping on her couch that night because she couldn’t be rude enough to make him go home at four in the morning when he lives all the way across town, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him sleep in her bed. They go on pretending for two weeks until Emma comes into the precinct with one of her guys, scantily clad in one of her “fake date” dresses, and it takes no more than Killian running his tongue over his bottom lip when she leans over his desk to sign off on some paperwork, breasts spilling over the top of said dress, for her to find herself in his apartment riding him with abandon, elbows propped on his kitchen counter as he pounds into her from behind, his cock dragging against her walls while her stomach is pushed into marble and his lips trail down her back, his tongue tracing patterns that his hips follow into her swollen heat.

 

That night was pretty much it for her, a downward spiral into her inability to resist Killian Jones. They never talked about it. It just kept happening. They’d end up at one of their apartments or in the backseat of a car or a bathroom stall if they were feeling particularly adventurous. But neither of them ever made a move for more, not until recently. No dates were planned, the most they did eating leftover pizza when one of their stomachs growled between rounds – that isn’t really true, but she’ll deny it until her face turns blue because apparently she’s a stupid, stubborn asshole.

 

_I quite like your ass, Swan._

 

It’s almost like if they didn’t talk about it, it meant it wasn’t real, it wasn’t really happening. But it most definitely is happening, even if no one knows but them and possibly Killian’s neighbors.

 

Sometimes the neighbors will bang on the wall (so will Emma and Killian but in a different way) when the two of them get particularly enthusiastic, and it always results in Killian’s grunting increasing in volume while he moves against her so that the slapping of their skin can be heard through the wall.

 

It’s fucking hot.

 

It started just as sex, but she hasn’t been with anyone else since it started two years ago and she knows he hasn’t either because they dropped the condoms to rely on just her birth control when they’d admitted to not sleeping with other people one night curled up under blankets on her living room floor as they ate Halloween candy and laughed about the time that David got so drunk that he started speaking in a British accent. So it’s sex with feelings buried in a shallow hole beneath the surface, denial of this completely on her part. Maybe another day she’ll own up and open up about any possible (definite) feelings that she has, but he’s got her all riled up now with at least a fifteen minute drive to his apartment, and that’s not something she’s about to let him quit before the job’s done.

 

“Killian, I don’t want to talk about this tonight. I would rather you use your mouth for other purposes. Or maybe I’ll use mine.”

 

She sees the flash of desire in his eyes, but she also sees the tenseness in his stance as he moves away from her, contact between the two of them completely gone. He doesn’t say anything else, putting the key into the ignition and making his way to his apartment in a silence that’s decidedly not filled with anticipation.

 

The only comfort she has is when he places his right hand over her left as he takes them home.

 

She knows she probably hurt him because she knows he wants more from them. He’s made his feelings clear on the matter, but she’s holding back. She’s okay having him when she labels it as “just sex” because then she knows there’s no reason for him to cut himself off from her, to leave her. If it’s more, it’s different. It’s scarier, and she knows that once he gets to know her, knows that she’s not worth this relationship he seems to want, and then she won’t have him in any way. She’ll have to stare at him across the dinner table at David’s and act like he’s just a guy who she sees on occasion and not a man she’s come to rely on every day of her life.

 

That night is weird between the two of them. She knows he’s pissed, so she was expecting rough sex, her body to be used in a way that allows him to let out his frustrations while leaving her unable to walk normally the next day. But it’s not. It’s…slow. He kisses her languidly, at a slower pace than he ever has before, and instead of thrusting into her as soon as they get to the bedroom, he takes his time, kissing down her stomach before moving his tongue against her clit, slow flicks that have her moaning and arching off the bed in seconds. He presses his tongue flat as he swipes it through her folds before moving back to her clit, knowing just what to do to have her riled up after years of experience.

 

This is torture, she thinks, attempting to move her hips closer to him to get more pleasure from the pressure, but he uses his arm to hold her down, not allowing her to do anything but let him lap at her. She could cry from the pleasure he is giving her, but they both know it isn’t enough.

 

“Please,” she moans, trying to lift her hips again, but he presses his arm further into her to keep her down.

 

He doesn’t respond, just hums against her clit before biting down, her body bucking up as much as it can because _oh my god_.

 

“Kil – Killian. I – I need you to change something. I can’t…I can’t take it anymore.”

 

He looks up at her momentarily, stopping his motions to fucking smile up at her before moving to slowly thrust two fingers inside of her, curling them so that he hits _the spot_ he knows brings her the most pleasure.

 

It feels so fucking good, and bless the man for doing this. _For enjoying this_. The sight of his black hair buried between her thighs is one of the most erotic things she’s ever seen, and she never wants it to stop.

 

He bites her clit and curls his fingers simultaneously, and _she’s gone_ , screaming out his name before everything goes black and she can feel nothing but ecstasy.

 

When he’s done lapping at her, her essence covering his beard, he kisses back up her stomach before running his tongue against hers, the taste of herself a weird but not unfamiliar taste. This feels a little too much like what she imagines _love making_ feels like, so she takes control, flipping them over so that she can straddle his lap as he leans against his headboard.

 

When she sinks down onto him, the size of him a fullness that she craves, a fullness that’s only okay when he’s fully sheathed inside of her, bottoming out before she lifts her hips, setting a punishing pace that has Killian speaking for the first time since they’ve gotten to his apartment.

 

“Fuck, Emma,” he groans, moving his hands to grab onto her hips, a firmness that will leave bruises if it continues, “just keeping moving like that. You’re a bloody siren, darling, always doing everything you can to suck me dry with that wonderful body of yours.”

 

 _Fucking hell_ , she thinks, her walls absolutely dripping at the feel of him inside her and at the dulcet tone of his words. She could get off just by the way he speaks to her, the way his accent rolls of his tongue and straight to her core, deep and soothing and fucking hot.

 

She can feel him pulsing inside of her, and she knows by the way his eyelids are hooded that he’s close, that he’s almost not in control of his body anymore, but then he’s reaching up to pull her down so that he can kiss her, burying his hands in her hair, the sensation reaching all the way down to her toes so much that her legs begin to quiver. His mouth is hot, needy, the way he’s kissing her like a man who hasn’t been kissed in years, and she can’t get enough. But she also knows the he’s about to finish, and she’s not quite there yet and she wants to come again, so she has to maneuver her hand off his chest to find its way to where they’re joined, fast hard circles that have her arching her back within seconds.

 

Killian flips them over so that she’s on her back before spilling himself into her, his seed threatening to drip onto her thighs as he’s rolling off of her so that he doesn’t crush her with his weight. She’s still fingering at her clit, moving her hands down so that his essence coats her fingers before moving back to her clit, almost to that point of pleasure, but not quite yet. Killian usually makes sure she’s finished before him, but he’s very obviously a little off tonight. He must come back to his senses because without even realizing it, her eyes closed as she focuses on reaching her own peak, his mouth his on her breast, lapping at her sensitive bud as she works the sensitive bud that’s a bit lower. Together they help her reach her climax, the feelings of her orgasm rippling through her body like a small explosion that has her gasping for air before Killian kisses her again and rests his forehead against her shoulder, their heavy pants filling the room.

 

When she wakes up the next morning, she’s pleasantly sore from where Killian frantically pounded into her again in the middle of the night, his hands grappling at her hips while her face was pressed into the mattress. She reaches over to pull Killian’s arm around her waist so that she can go back to sleep, but he’s not in bed, the sheets cool to the touch. It’s not the first time it’s happened, but it’s unusual for him to not be next to her, arm curled around her waist, the heavy weight of it one of her favorite things.

 

But he’s not there.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, here's part two!

**_Three months ago:_ **

 

“Emma, w–what are you doing?”

 

She looks up from her position perched by his hips, her mouth still fully encasing his length, _thank goodness for morning erections_ , so she can’t talk, can’t respond without releasing him and she’s not going to do that. So she just hums around him, making his cock throb in the wetness of her mouth and making Killian throw his head back against the pillow while thrusting his hips slightly up into her. He’s still got control of himself, the siren of sleep still calling to him more than she is, and that just won’t do.

 

She is much more interesting than sleep.

 

It’s not very ladylike, at least judging by what she’s picked up from her more demure friends, but she’s never been one to follow social norms. She loves the way he tastes on her lips and her tongue, the saltines of the velvety skin something she craves in the light of the early morning when the rest of his body hasn’t woken up yet so the only things he feels are her mouth around him and her arms resting on his legs, fingers trailing along the soft hair that covers the muscles of his thighs to keep him from canting his hips up into her mouth.

 

“Love,” he groans when she releases him only to run her tongue flat against his length from his base until she’s circling his tip, slowly dragging the tip of her tongue against him as she adds her hand to his base, twisting and turning lightly to work him higher. “Oh, gods, Swan, you’ve gotta –”

 

He can’t finish his statement because she’s encasing his cock with her lips again, bobbing her head as she tries to take him in further, and the way he’s breathing and moaning has her absolutely aching with no real relief coming when she clinches her thighs together in search of _something_.

 

From her peripheral she sees Killian’s arm twitch, his fingers clinching at his side, and she knows he wants to put his fingers in her hair, guide her to the perfect rhythm, but he always holds back. It doesn’t matter how many times she does this, how much she encourages him to take what he wants, he always holds back until she gives him permission.

 

Trying to be a gentleman when she’s giving him a damn blowjob.

 

So she reaches her free hand forward to grab his clenched fist as she hollows out her cheeks and moves to take him in as fully as she can. She thinks Killian might die from pleasure from the way he’s whimpering. The frustrating man doesn’t get the hint until she’s literally putting his hand in her hair and he’s running his fingers through the base of it, pulling at her strands until he gets her in the perfect rhythm for him, a quick up and down motion that takes both of their breaths away.

 

He’s quiet this morning, not muttering as many of his usual encouragements that she longs to hear, but she doesn’t take it as an insult. No, he’s quiet because he can’t speak because of the pleasure he’s taking from her mouth, just soft little grunts and groans that have her constantly clenching her legs together at how much his reactions to her turn her on.

 

 _He really fucking turns her on_. It’s insane just how attracted she is to him all the time, especially now when she looks up to see the trail of black hair that goes from his hips and over his abs, all the way up to his chest. His eyes are blown wide, locked on her as she scrapes her teeth gently against him, wishing he was the slightest bit smaller for things like this…but not at all for when they get down to the real thing. She winks at him before going back to pay attention to the task at hand…or at mouth.

 

“Love, you’ve gotta – ah fuck – I’m not going to be able to hold on if you keep going.”

 

He’s panting, and instead of heading his words, she keeps going, increasing her pace until he doesn’t have control of his hips anymore and he’s spilling himself into her mouth as she sucks him dry.

 

He once told her there were few things he loves more than spilling himself into her, no matter how it happens, and just the thought of how husky his voice was when he muttered those words has her almost ready to come.

 

This man does incredible things to her.

 

When she finally releases him, a loud, wet popping sound accompanying her, she almost immediately feels the need to brush her teeth, but Killian’s pulling her up his body so that he can slant his lips over hers as his hand traces down her spine, light touches as he taps his fingers against her skin until his palm lands on her ass, squeezing it ever so softly before grasping the cheek with more conviction, his nails likely leaving crescent moon imprints.

 

She wants to whimper at that.

 

She does.

 

“What did I do to deserve that this morning? I thought my birthday was yesterday.”

 

“It was,” she purrs, moving to give him several chaste kisses, each one getting longer than the last while her foot runs along his calf, his hand still palming her ass, “and now that I think about it, while that was a _wonderful_ way to start both of our mornings and while we’re definitely not finished, I really want some of the leftover cake in your fridge from your party last night.”

 

“Oh yeah?” he questions, rolling them over so that she’s on her back, kissing down the side of her neck until he reaches her shoulder, resting his head against the skin there and breathing her in as she does the same.

 

He smells like a mixture of sweat and his cologne from the night before, and she loves it.

 

She thinks she might love him, and she doesn’t know what to do with that information. Would that be crazy? To love him?

 

Sometimes he’ll look at her like every strand on her head is full of magic and like the lines of her face are lines he’d be content to trace for the rest of her days. He’ll look at her like she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and he’ll look at her in a way that makes her actually believe it.

 

But then other days they’ll get in these knock down, drag out arguments over something stupid like him not telling her he got hurt at work. Okay, that’s not stupid. That’s serious, but she’ll find the cut running against his stomach and the stitches healing it and be fucking pissed that he didn’t tell her. Maybe that makes her believe she loves him, too.

 

_She’d walked into his apartment one day with her hands full of pizza and beer only to find him laid out on his couch with his shirt off, his abs on display right next to the ugliest gash she’s ever seen. She drops the pizza and the beer, thankful the bottles land on the rug and don’t shatter._

_“What the hell happened to you?”_

_“Tis nothing.”_

_“That doesn’t look like nothing.”_

_He stares up at her for a moment, and she can see him fighting himself on whether or not to tell the truth. “I went out into the field unprepared, and this drug dealer I’d been helping track, you know the guy with one eye, he snuck up on me and stabbed me in the gap of my vest before fleeing.”_

_“When did this happen?”_

_He grimaces, and it’s not from the stab wound._

_“Two days ago.”_

_He fucking got stabbed two days ago and didn’t tell her. They’ve talked several times in the past two days, and he somehow didn’t think to tell her? Now she’s pissed when she should be sympathetic, kind, and probably anything other than pissed._

 

_“Why didn’t you tell me you got fucking stabbed, you idiot?”_

_“Because I didn’t want you to worry!”_

_“And me coming over onto find you laid out on the couch with an angry red slash in your skin means I won’t worry?”_

_“No, it means you’ll worry after I know everything is okay so there’s no need for you worry.”_

_“What if things hadn’t been okay, Killian?” She’s pacing now, her hands raised in the air as her mind races. She is not overreacting. He has a fucking knife wound. “What then? You would have died, and I never would have known until I came into the precinct one day looking for you only for your partner to be, like, ‘sorry, Detective Jones was murdered last week.’ What the hell kind of logic is that?”_

_Oh God, she’s going to cry. She doesn’t want to cry, but she can feel the tears stinging in her eyes even as she swipes them away while they fall to her cheeks._

_She feels his arms around her before she can try to blink away the tears that keep falling. She immediately buries her face in his shoulder, her nose nuzzling into the place where the scar from where he was once shot remains. Damn, his job is dangerous, and it shouldn’t be like that. He should be safe. She needs him to be safe._

_“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her hair while his fingers rub her back. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t do the right thing. I should have called you as soon as I could. I promise the next time I get stabbed or shot or punched in the face I’ll call you before the bloody knife is even out of my body.”_

_A watery chuckle escapes her while she shakes her head against his shoulder. “Maybe you could try not to get hurt again. I’d want that over anything else.”_

_“You know I can’t promise that.” She feels him shift his head to kiss her hair, but she can’t feel the kiss. She wishes she could feel the kiss. She really wants to feel the kiss. “But I’m going to do more behind the scenes work now, okay? You know I love paperwork.”_

_“You hate paperwork.”_

_“Yeah, but I’ve got some things in my life I’d like to stick around for.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_He pulls back and pushes her forward so that his hands rest on her shoulders while he smiles down at her, his blue eyes the slightest bit watery._

_“I just bought a kick-ass Camaro.”_

_Now his grin is as cheeky as can be before he dips down and captures her lips, his tongue immediately swiping at the seam of her lips while she whimpers in response, so relieved to simply be connected like this again._

_“What about me?”_

_“I thought that was obvious, my Swan.”_

She’s pretty sure that she loves him, and she _knows_ that he loves her. She guesses that’s what scares her. He so obviously loves her, and if she fucks up, she doesn’t just mess with her own feelings, she messes with his.

 

He doesn’t deserve that, even if she knows that she’s hurting him every moment she doesn’t let him acknowledge those feelings, even if he hasn’t brought that up in the past few months. She’s scared, okay? It doesn’t matter how irrational it is. Love is scary no matter what, and Emma has decided to hide her feelings away to keep herself from being terrified, no matter how awful that course of action is. She can have Killian this way, and it seems to be going just fine.

 

“Yeah,” she finally answers to Killian’s question, running her hand through the hair at the nape of his neck before crawling out from underneath him and slipping one of his t-shirts over her head and walking to the kitchen.

 

Cake beats sex just this one time. It’s really good, okay?

 

That’s where he finds her several minutes later, eating the cake straight out of a container while propped up on the counter, legs swinging beneath her as the taste of buttercream icing fills her mouth.

 

Is it too dirty for her to say that this is the second best cream that’s been in her mouth all morning?

 

Is she really worrying about if the jokes she’s making in her head are too dirty when she just gave a good morning blowjob?

 

She’s twenty-eight years old, and she can eat cake for breakfast if she wants to.

 

_Cake and Killian apparently._

And she can also make those dirty jokes if she wants to.

 

“I’m not sure if this is better or worse than the pop tarts you usually eat for your morning nutrients, Swan.”

 

Killian steps between her thighs, moving her legs over so that he can stand nestled in her embrace.

 

“Better,” she mumbles, sticking another forkful in her mouth while looping her legs around his waist pulling him closer to her so that she can feel the heat of his body, “much more like a delicacy because I don’t keep cake in my apartment.”

 

“Do you want to use a plate? You know, for sanitary reasons?”

 

Emma just glares at him before rolling his eyes. Sometimes his neat freak ways go too far. “I think if anybody can stomach eating after me, it’d be you of all people. We’re not exactly ones to shy away from _sharing_ things with each other. Besides, you don’t even like cake.”

 

“I like the icing.”

 

“Duh, that’s the best part, Jones.”

 

A beat passes.

 

“So how does it feel to be thirty-one? Firmly in your thirties and all that. Do you feel old yet? Like your life is on a downhill spiral to gray hair and Sunday night bingo?”

 

“Not so much this morning,” he admits, lips ticking up on one side as he places his hands on the countertop on either side of her, leaning down to kiss her shoulder through the cloth of her – _his_ – t-shirt. She loves when he does things like that. “And as you can see, I’ve retained my youthful glow.” He chastely pecks her lips before leaning his forehead against hers. “How long do I have you today?”

 

“If you let me eat this cake off of the tray without grimacing every time I lick my fork before getting another bite, you can have me until you have to go to work tomorrow. Then maybe after that, too.”

 

“Deal.”

 

It’s the perfect lazy day. They keep the curtains in the living room closed all day so that no light pokes through, the entire place shaded in darkness that’s only eased from the floor lamp in the corner of the living room and the light of the television. Neither of them get dressed, Emma in just the t-shirt and Killian in his boxers, and it makes for an easier time when Emma finally gets to ease the ache in her thighs from where she didn’t get to earlier.

 

Cake only beats sex for so long.

 

They’re lying on the coach, her back pressed against his front with their legs tangled together, the sensation of his leg hair running against her bare legs causing a slight tingling sensation as she languidly rubs her legs over his in return. She’s about to doze off, sleep calling to her, when she feels Killian’s hand snake up underneath her shirt, fingernails tracing against her skin until his nail circles an areola, slowly, torturously, _wonderfully_.

 

“Killian,” she moans, reaching back to run her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer so that his head moves closer to her neck, and she can feel the heat of his breath.

 

“Have I ever told you how much I love your breasts, Swan?”

 

Heat immediately coils in her belly.

 

“A few times,” she admits as his nail moves to her nipple and his lips move to press sloppy kisses against her neck.

 

“They’re bloody glorious, love. The weight of them in my hands,” he cups her breast before moving his hand back to her stomach, pulling her back so that she’s nestled further into him, no space between them, “is so perfect. Your pink nipples call to me, and I know that you love when I run my tongue against them, tasting you.”

 

She can’t say anything, just whimpers as he runs his tongue behind her ear and his hand down to her folds, fingers teasing the wetness that’s already pooled there from the way they’ve been languidly touching all day.

 

“Lift your leg over my hip, darling.”

 

She complies, not even questioning his intentions as she feels him pull his boxers down, his cock hard as it lands against her folds, slapping at her clit.

 

“Fuck,” she moans just at the sensation of him lightly touching her.

 

He has to lift her leg higher over his hip so that he can slowly slide into her, the gradual fullness making her breath hitch because she has to adjust to his size in this position.

 

Well, every position, but especially this one.

 

“You feel so good like this, Swan,” he groans, snapping his hips into her at a leisurely pace, his hand still harshly palming her breast, “so bloody tight around me. So wet around me, _for_ me.”

 

“Killian,” she whines as he continues at the slowest pace she’s ever experienced in her entire life, and it’s _wonderful_. He slips out of her for a moment, the sensation of being empty not one that she likes, but then he’s sinking back into her with a deep thrust and reaching further around to continue fondling her breasts underneath her t-shirt, his calloused fingers heightening the sensations as he finally moves to toy with her right nipple. He was right. She loves when he does things like this.

 

“Being inside of you is one of the great wonders of the world. I never want to not be like this.”

 

She can’t speak. Hell, she can barely breathe.

 

It’s totally worth it.

 

She can feel every movement inside of her, the contracting of her walls as his velvety length pushes and pulls and pulses inside of her, gasps wracking her body and causing her to pant as Killian softly grunts with every thrust until she turns her head and captures his lips with hers, their tongues running over teeth and against each other, a slick, wet slide of increased sensations while Killian continues to slide into her slick heat.  

 

Killian Jones, well, falling into bed with Killian Jones has got to be one of the best decisions of her life. She’s never experienced sex like she does with him, like her skin is constantly burning but never burning out. He’s magnificent, and he knows it. He’s magnificent, and _she_ knows it. She knows it and feels it all the way down to her toes as his grip on her breast tightens, walking that fine line between pleasure and pain as his thrusts become more insistent, more powerful in their strokes.

 

_Oh God, she’s on fire._

It’s just not hot enough quite yet.

 

The entire thing is a slow burn, a continuous build up to a peak that she doesn’t think she’s going to reach. But out of nowhere, it’s there, her heartbeat pounding as she falls, Killian coming soon after with a few hard thrusts as the sound of their skin slapping each other and their harsh pants reverberates throughout the apartment.

 

They lay tangled together for awhile, his breath brushing against her neck as her hand strokes through his hair, a soothing embrace that has the two of them lulled into a comfortable silence until she feels Killian almost completely soften inside of her, and he has to pull away from her, peppering kisses across her face and her stomach when he gets up to go get a towel.

 

It’s only after he’s cleaned them up and nestled back behind her that he speaks again, his low, dulcet accent curling around his tongue and into her ear. “That’s my favorite.”

 

“Your favorite what?”

 

“My favorite position, my favorite pace. I like the slowness of it all, the way I can feel every slide and every flutter, the way you whimper with every movement. Don’t get me wrong. I love when I’m thrusting into you so harshly that you scream my name in pleasure, but there’s…there’s something special about what we just did. That’s why it’s my favorite.”

 

“Mine too,” she admits, twisting her head back so she can capture his lips between hers, neither of them pushing to make it anything more than just a simple slide of their lips together before Killian pulls a blanket up over their bodies and nestles his head on her shoulder and his arm over her waist.

 

They end up watching some cop show that’s on cable, neither of them bothering to find the remote even with Killian complaining about how inaccurate everything about it is.

 

“It’s just not feasible,” he groans, running his fingers across her stomach again, but this time with no intent of taking it further. “They’re breaking so many laws and none of this is protocol. And don’t even get me started on how everyone has fucked each other. That just doesn’t happen.”

 

“It’s a tv show. It’s not supposed to be entirely accurate.”

 

“Yeah, but this is what people think I do.”

 

“People think you break the law to solve your cases and then go at it with your super hot female partner in the interrogation room?”

 

“Not what I meant, Swan.” He presses his fingers into her stomach, pulling her back into him and pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck that sends tingles down her spine. “Though the hot bail bondsperson who works with them is entirely accurate.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“I’m serious, Swan. You’re bloody gorgeous. I know for a fact that every cop at work wants you.” She knows the words he doesn’t say are _but I get you_. “Though, they don’t know how brilliant you are,” he kisses her neck again, “or how witty, always keeping me on my toes,” his fingers dance across her stomach, “or how you dance when you’re waiting for food to heat up in the microwave because you refuse to use the oven unless I’m cooking,” he nuzzles his nose into the back of her hair, “and they definitely don’t know that you’re so bloody fierce that you could probably take all of our jobs. I know those things, though, darling.”

 

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what to say. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to her. The only things that come close…well, Killian said those things, too. A part of her wants to run, to untangle herself from his grasp and to run away because of the strength of his feelings for her…and hers for him. But she doesn’t _truly_ want to. She just wants to have a day where she can be happy and content and not have to worry about anything.

 

So she just twists her head so that she can chastely press her lips against his and then kiss his throat, right over where she can feel his heart beat, before turning around and cuddling back into him, the warmth of his skin making her entire body experience some kind of slow burn.

 

Always burning. Never burning out.

 

“I think you’re brilliant, too,” she whispers in the dark of the night, the television show having long ended as infomercials flicker across the screen.

 

He’s quiet for a moment, his hold on her waist tightening as he kisses her shoulder in the spot she’s come to call his spot. The spot that mirrors the scar on his own shoulder. “Yeah?” he whispers, the deepness of his voice making it louder than he intends.

 

“Yeah,” she answers, turning in his arms so the she can face him, nuzzling her nose against his. “And I’ll kill you if you tell anyone I said this, but you’re the funniest person I know, even when most of your jokes are dirty.” He kisses her forehead before kissing her nose again, and she can’t help but smile. “And I like that when you’re in a good mood, you smile with your entire face. You have smile lines around your eyes, and even though you think it’s just because you’re old, I think they make you more handsome. And I like that you cook for me so I don’t have to use the microwave except to heat up the leftovers.”

 

He kisses her then, soft and sweet before pulling back to look her in the eyes. His are so, so blue. It’s not fair. “Thank you, darling.”

 

They don’t speak anymore that night, just Emma making a simple _oomph_ sound when Killian lifts her off the couch and carries her back to his bedroom, nestling back into her and pulling her backside into him with his hand resting over her chest, over her heart.

 

By the time she wakes up the next morning, Killian is already at work, but a piece of cake (on a plate) is sitting on the bedside table next to her with a piece of paper underneath.

 

_Emma,_

_I didn’t want to wake you, beautiful, but I had to go to work. The past few days have been wonderful. Thanks for spending them with me and making it one of my best birthdays. One of my best days, really. Turns out you can have your cake and eat it, too._

_xoxo Killian_

* * *

**_Now_ **

He wasn’t in his apartment when she woke up then, and he’s mostly likely not here now. Though, the two different mornings, while on the surface similar, feel entirely different. He’s not in the bathroom, and he’s not in his living room. She was right in her suspicion. He’s nowhere to be seen. On other mornings like this, even if he’s not in bed with her, he’s in one of those places, but he’s not anywhere to be found.

 

Instead of finding Killian, she finds her phone on the kitchen counter, placed next to a note that she must have missed in her frantic (not that she’ll admit to that) search for Killian.

 

_Swan,_

_I got called into work early. I don’t know when I’ll be home so you don’t have to bother waiting. You know the drill. You’re welcome to anything you want in the kitchen and the Netflix account on the television._

_Jones_

She doesn’t know the drill, though. Besides the one time, he’s never left her in his apartment before, not without the promise of coming back with coffee and something to eat. A part of her wants to stay, to lounge on his couch wrapped up in his shirt until he gets home, but it feels wrong, dirty almost. The tone of his note not obviously harsh, but it is for Killian. She knows him well enough to know when he’s pissed, even when she can’t see the tick of his jaw or the clench of his teeth. So she finds some of the clothes she keeps in his closet, slipping into jeans and a t-shirt before slipping out the door.

 

She doesn’t see him for the rest of the week. He doesn’t call. He doesn’t text unless she texts him first, and then his responses are curt, so different than the flowery language he usually uses. She offers to come over one night with takeout from his favorite Chinese food to try to clear the air between them, but he texts back that he’s busy with work, his go to excuse lately. He’s never worked this goddamn much in his life. She tries not to overthink it, tries to convince herself that whatever he got called into work for is important, and he really is just busy this week. But she finds herself missing him, and while it’s not a foreign feeling, it’s weird knowing that if she calls, he might not answer. That’s never happened before.

 

He’s always been there for her.

 

Without fail.

 

_She’s fucked up._

 

By the time their weekly dinner rolls around, she’s sitting on the edge of her seat, Mary Margaret telling her about some of her students from school while Emma listens to see if she can hear movement outside the front door. When that movement never comes, she realizes that Killian isn’t either, and it hurts even more than she was expecting it to. And she was expecting it to hurt.

 

She can’t tell Mary Margaret what is going on, and she desperately wants to. She wants to tell her that she’s been sleeping with Killian, and now he’s not talking to her.

 

And she wants to tell her that she thinks she’s fallen for Killian, too, but she can barely tell herself that most days. She hasn’t let herself really think… _those words_ …since Killian’s birthday a few months ago. She won’t let herself think them now.

 

Instead she goes to a bakery and buys a small birthday cake to eat, and it’s quite possibly one of the saddest things she’s ever done.

 

It’s even sadder when she eats it in the dark of her living room watching a marathon of the cop shows she and Killian love to hate.

 

It really is the saddest when she goes into her room and finds one of his plaid shirts, wrapping herself in it as the tears fall down her cheeks and the sobs make her body shake.

 

She loves him. She finally admits it to herself when it’s three in the morning, and she’s eaten almost all of the cake and consumed almost half of a bottle of rum. And she’s the biggest idiot in the world for not telling him and not letting him love her in return.

 

But he was the one who left.

 

She’s the one who fucked up by making him push his feelings aside because she was ignoring her own, but he’s the one who left. How is she supposed to make things better if he won’t talk to her?

 

In a move that she’s not proud of, she purposely finds a skip that requires her to slip into a little black dress, this one with a neckline that exposes almost every bit of her breasts because Killian is most definitely a boob’s man, and apply red lipstick to her lips before going out. Handcuffing the guy is easy, and she’s at the precinct in no time, paperwork filled out in the blink of an eye. She figures that tonight Killian will finally get out of this funk he’s in and at least talk to her, but as she saunters over to his desk, making sure that her hips sway with her steps, he’s not there. Instead he’s very hurriedly going through the doors she’s not allowed through, not a glance in her direction even though she knows he saw her, a flash of blue before he disappears from sight.

 

Something rises in her throat, and she pushes it down before it can become a thing, not even bothering to wait for him to come back. He’s obviously not coming back.

 

They don’t talk for three more weeks. She sees him when she brings people in, but they don’t talk. He doesn’t call or text at all, even when she texts him. There’s no Killian at dinner. He always mysteriously disappears as soon as she walks in the doors at the station, and she idly wonders why he’s continuously working the night shift. He usually only does it twice a week, but he’s got to be working overtime every damn day. He’s obviously pissed at her, and she’s too stubborn to really, truly do something about it. Instead letting him stew by himself as she refuses to acknowledge that him avoiding her is killing her.

 

She cries more often than not when she’s awake late at night and can’t sleep, so maybe she does acknowledge that this is killing her.

 

She’s scared that she’s lost him for good, and he really is going to be the guy who sits across from her at weekly dinner (if he ever shows up again) who she acts like is nothing but a casual friend.

 

She doesn’t know what she’ll do if he acts the same way in return.

 

But she’s not going to change her work life just because he’s upset with her, and frankly she’s pissed as hell at him at this point, so when she needs to fill out the paperwork to make sure she gets paid for this asshole who managed to get a right hook on her before she got handcuffs on him, she still goes to her favorite precinct. She can already feel her eye swelling, the purple bruise coming to light against her pale skin, but it’s not a big deal. She’ll just put a bag of frozen peas on it when she gets home.

 

It’s as she’s getting ready to leave that it happens. He must not know that she’s in there tonight because all of the sudden she’s face to face with him for the first time in a month.

 

“Hi,” Emma squeaks, throat suddenly dry as she looks him in the eyes for the first time in what feels like forever. They’re that same blue, but they look almost hollow, like he hasn’t been sleeping. She hasn’t either.

 

“Bloody hell, Emma,” Killian scowls, reaching his hand up to touch the bruising under her eye like it’s instinct for him to touch her, to comfort her. “What happened? Are you alright, darling?”

 

Killian’s obviously forgotten that he’s mad at her, the term of endearment rolling off his tongue while the pad of his thumb brushes against her bruise, two kinds of tender mixing together.

 

“I’m fine,” she sighs, wanting to yell at him that it’s none of his business but not having the energy to even deal with this right now. She wants him to comfort her, even if she shouldn’t. “It’s not like it’s never happened before.”

 

“You need ice,” he snaps, softness suddenly melting away as he comes to his senses and backs away from her, hands moving to rest on his belt buckle.

 

“I know,” she sneers, slowly inching back from him. “I’m going home to get it.”

 

With those words, she walks out, not even bothering to look back.

 

She really wants to look back.

 

When she gets home later that night, the first thing she does is shimmy out of her dress and her heels, changing into a sweatshirt and pajama bottoms that make her look more like a twelve year old boy than anything else. But she doesn’t care. She’s just going to put that bag of frozen peas on her eye while she watches TV.

 

She must fall asleep, tonight and the past few nights catching up with her, because when she wakes up there’s a pounding at her door that has her running to her bedroom to grab her gun before approaching the door, the pounding calming into more of a gentle knock.

 

“Emma, love, open the door.” It’s Killian’s voice on the other side, and she immediately unloads her gun and puts it in the table drawer by her front door. She’s fucking pissed at him, but she’s not going to shoot him. That would be excessive even for her.

 

She flings the door open, only stopping it before it slams against her wall.

 

“What the hell are you doing here?”

 

He doesn’t answer her question. Instead moving in to cup her face, lips soft and warm and _full_ when they press against hers. He’s such a goddamn good kisser that he’s able to dissolve her into gooey mess within seconds, her head empty except for the thought of how wonderful this feels and the noises he makes when she slants her lips over his.

 

But then she remembers that she’s damn well pissed at him. He’s acted like she didn’t exist for an entire month, and now he’s in her apartment kissing her like he’s allowed to do that.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Killian?” she repeats, pushing against his chest and crossing her arms over her own chest.

 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

 

“You did that at the station, remember?” she huffs, anger at him heating to the boiling point.  “And I don’t really think that sticking your tongue down someone’s throat is a way to make sure their black eye is okay.”

 

He’s running his hand through his hair, the black strands sticking up like a madman. “I’m sorry. It just seemed like the natural thing for me to do, and I had just _missed_ you. Seeing you hurt like that did something to me.”

 

“Yeah?” she asks sweetly, taking a step closer to him, their lips almost touching. She can hear the way he’s trying to regulate his breathing, the way he’s trying to keep himself under control.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Then maybe,” she ghosts over his lips, “you shouldn’t have fucking ignored me for a month.”

 

She slaps him then, not in the face, though she had to resist the urge, but right across the shoulder where she knows he’s got a sensitive scar from a gunshot wound, where she used to kiss to greet him good morning or wish him goodnight. It’s cruel and it’s petty, but he doesn’t get to act like he can just kiss her and care about her after leaving her in his apartment and then avoiding her for weeks.

 

A grimace crosses his face that gives her some kind of sick sense of satisfaction.

 

“Well, hell, Emma,” he spits out, hand already reaching up to massage his shoulder. “You acted like you didn’t want me around last time I saw you, so why the fuck would it have mattered if I didn’t talk to you?”

 

“Where the hell did you get the idea that I didn’t want you around?”

 

“Maybe from the fact that every time I try to have a goddamn conversation about the two of us doing more than some kind of secret shameful sex you either close off from me or seduce me into shutting up.”

 

“That’s because you want to take something that’s just ‘ _secret shameful sex’_ and turn it into a relationship when I’ve told you a million times that I don’t do relationships because I always get screwed over.”

 

“You’ve been in a fucking relationship with me for two years, and you don’t even realize it. Or maybe you do, and you won’t accept it. I don’t know what’s worse.”

 

“You and me,” she points between the two of them, “are not in a relationship.”

 

She’s lying, and she knows it. But she doesn’t care.

 

“When’s the last time you slept with someone other than me because I seem to recall having a conversation about how that wasn’t happening anymore?”

 

It’s amazing how even when he doesn’t yell, his voice still shoots to her very core, anger practically rolling off of him in waves as he controls his temper.

 

She’s got an answer on the tip of her tongue, but it never seems to pass through her lips. Instead she says, “Sex does not equate to a relationship, Killian.”

 

“No, but the fact that we spend almost every other night together, have meals together, talk every day, share about our days and our lives and our pasts does.”

 

“So what? You think that we should be in a relationship? You’re the guy who fucked me and then ignored me for a month. That doesn’t exactly seem like someone who wants that.”

 

His jaw ticks and his teeth clench. That’s Killian 101 for pissed. Good. At least he feels something.

 

“I didn’t want to keep doing what we were doing and have it go nowhere. I was pissed at you that night, but I was also pissed at myself. So I savored what I thought would be one last night with you because if you didn’t want anything more, I couldn’t just stay around as your play thing. I have fucking done that before, and I’m not doing it again. I most likely handled it wrong and handled tonight wrong, and I’m just bloody sorry, okay?” A sigh passes through his lips as his hand runs through his hair that makes it stick up in a way that has Emma feeling… _things_. “I once told you I’d do anything to keep the girl I like around, even if it kills me.Emma, it was killing me to be with you without _really_ being with you, and I didn’t know what to do so I left. I left because I was in pain, like my heart was physically breaking.”

 

He pauses again, and she can literally see the tension leave his shoulders as the anxiety rolls in instead, his hand moving to scratch behind his ear. That’s Killian 101 for nervous, and wow, she really does know him. She just didn’t know he was going to say that words he does next. “I love you, Emma. I love you more than anything in this whole goddamn world, but if you don’t want me, I have to respect that. I can’t fight for someone who doesn’t want me to fight for them.”

 

“Of course I want you,” she admits, anger cooling to the freezing point. He just told her he loves her, didn’t he? She heard that correctly, but she can’t quite believe it. They’ve got things to talk about, things to work through, but she doesn’t think she can do all of that right now. “I’m sorry, too. I know I fucked up with you. You deserve better than me. I just don’t know how to handle things like this. Like you and me. We’re like two fuses ready to blow, and I don’t want to be left as the carnage. I mean, look at us now. You just told me you love me for the first time after we were fighting.” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “I care about you too much to lose you.”

 

“Emma,” he pleads, taking a step closer to her, their faces just inches apart, “what about me and you makes you think we’re just going to blow up?”

 

Her breath hitches before she shrugs her shoulders, and she’s pathetic. “That’s how it’s always worked out for me before…and I, uh – I love you. I love you, and I don’t think I could survive without you. This last month has been awful, and everyone I’ve ever loved before has betrayed me.”

 

“I’m not going to do that.”

 

She knows that. She’s always known that, but she’s an idiot.

 

“I know.”

 

His face changes then, something softer with wide blue eyes and a smile that curves his lips just the slightest bit upward as he places his hand on her hip, squeezing it.

 

“You just have to take the leap, darling and trust that fighting for what both of us want is worth it.”

 

She does.

 

“Killian, please kiss me.”

 

He does.

 

It starts off slowly, just a simple press of his lips against hers, but even if emotionally it’s going to take her some time to come around to fully accepting these changes that are inevitably going to happen and that she wants him and doesn’t have to run away, her body knows that she wants him. And she wants him sooner rather than later.

 

A month without is a month too long.

 

She needs more, more of him, so she opens her mouth and gently presses her tongue against his lips asking for the entrance she knows they both want. Once her tongue enters his mouth, the slide of his tangling against hers, making them both whimper and groan in a way that has him digging his fingers into her back so that her hips can press against his.

 

The noise he makes then, something akin to a growl, well, she’s going to remember that forever.

 

Killian moves his hands from her back, one going to wrap around her ass while the other moves to cup her face, fingers planting themselves at the roots of her hair.

 

“Ow, shit.”

 

“Not the reaction I usually like from a woman when I’m trying to romance her.”

 

A soft laugh escapes from Emma’s lips before she presses her forehead against his, his breath still warm against her lips. “You can’t touch my face. The – the bruise, the swelling hurts.”

 

“Fuck, Swan, I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine. It’s fine. Just keep kissing me but avoid the eye, yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

There’s no preamble before his tongue thrusts into her and his hands move to wrap just below her ass, fingers digging into the skin there as he’s lifting her up so that she can wrap her legs around his waist and begin rolling her hips. When he kisses her, she can’t think about anything else. It’s like the noises and the lights around them are muted and muffled and there’s nothing else but the feel of his lips against hers and their bodies melding together.

 

He’s moving her, but she doesn’t know where. He can’t touch her face, but she can touch his, so she runs her hands across his scruff – it’s longer now, and she fucking loves it – and into his hair, tugging at the soft strands so that Killian hums into her mouth and so that she can feel more of him, while he walks them to what she thinks is the couch.

 

When he settles down on what’s definitely the couch, he moves his lips to suck at her pulse point, and _oh god_ she really can’t think when he does that, but she has to move her legs out from underneath him or else she’ll never be able to walk again. He gets what she’s doing, lifting his hips so that she can straddle his lap, but when he lifts his hips they lightly brush against hers and _fuck_ she can feel his growing hardness against her thigh.

 

She missed him, but she also missed _that_.

 

She can’t take this not having her skin against his thing, so she reaches down to pull her sweatshirt off, the room suddenly too hot to have anything on her that’s not Killian.

 

His hands immediately go for her exposed waist, calloused fingers inching up her skin until he gently presses his hand against her breasts, palming them while she kisses across his jaw, only stopping when his thumbs run over her nipples, and she literally feels them go hard beneath his touch.

 

“I missed you, Killian,” she sighs against his neck as his fingers start to twist and pull and tease at her peaks. “I can’t _ah fuck_ – ” She can’t even speak right now, her senses heightened at ever touch and every movement of their hips together, wetness pooling at her core, and she really, desperately _needs_ him right now. She needs him so she pulls back from his neck and kisses him again before attempting to take off her pants, struggling because of the way Killian’s got a hold on her.

 

“You’re bloody amazing,” he moans as he finally helps her take off the rest of her clothes, slipping her pajama pants down her legs until she’s completely bared before him, his darkened gaze not helping the heat she’s feeling.

 

“Not to be cliché, but you’re wearing too many clothes.”

 

“Aye,” he confirms, reaching back to grab the material at the nape of his neck, pulling the material of the shirt up until his chest is exposed to her, the strong lines covered by the wiry dark hair that she didn’t realize she missed so damn much until she runs her fingers through it, feeling the beat of his heart in his chest.

 

Before she knows it he’s kicking his jeans across the floor, and she’s placing her knees on either side of his hips, teasing his smooth tip through the wetness of her folds. They don’t need much foreplay, the month of not seeing each other and the admission of love dissolving into an almost immediate need as soon as she sinks down onto him, moving her hips slightly to the side so that she knows he’ll hit her just right when she starts to move above him.

 

_Oh God, right there._

 

“Fuck,” Killian hisses out, throwing his head back against the couch as she leans forward to quickly brush her lips against his, resting her forehead against his shoulder to just savor the moment because they haven’t even started and it’s almost too much.

 

She begins to move, using her thighs to help her move up before sliding back down, the way he drags inside of her making her want to cry out in relief. She must not be going fast enough, the friction not enough for him because he’s grabbing onto her hips and helping her move, thrusting his length up into her wet heat as she moves down.

 

“That’s a good girl,” he groans, letting her ride him in a way the she knows he loves. He’s so responsive to her, always giving her physical signals or encouraging words to keep her moving against him as their moans mix together and fill the room. “That’s _my_ good girl.”

 

Any verbal response she has to him is stuck in her throat, everything she has is focusing on trying to keep moving at the same pace while also being able to breathe. But she’s gasping for air, the way his length is moving inside of her makes it impossible for her to think let alone be conscious of what she’s doing, and her legs are basically a quivering mess at this point.

 

Killian must realize that she’s having a difficult time keeping up the pace, her entire body now a quivering mess at the pleasure of it, so in a much practiced move, he flips them so that her back is against the couch cushions and he’s hovering over her.

 

She clenches her muscle to keep him from slipping out, and Killian mutters a “bloody fuck” against her breasts, biting at her nipple in a way that has her muttering a similar “holy fuck” against his chest.

 

She’s close, but she’s not close enough, so when Killian angles his hips so that he brushes against her clit with every thrust, she thinks she might combust, little bursts of pleasure running through her and causing her vision to blur as he moves above her.

 

“Oh god,” she moans when he lifts her leg over his shoulder, the angle now absolutely perfect while he pumps inside of her, his body heat everywhere. “Right – right there. Don’t stop.”

 

Suddenly, she’s on the verge, wrapping her arms around his back and feeling his muscles strain as her nails dig into the skin to bring him closer. He’s fantastic at this. It feels so goddamn good, and how did they go an entire month without doing this?

 

Never again. Never again. Never again.

 

She can feel her body tense, the heat rising through her stomach, and with four more thrusts, she’s falling apart, the only sign of her orgasm is the pounding in her ears that must be reverberating throughout the entire apartment complex. Maybe even the damn parking lot.

 

The fluttering of her muscles around him must have pushed Killian over the edge because through the pounding in her ears and the pounding between her thighs she hears him groan out her name quickly followed by the hot feeling of him pulsing deep inside of her as his seed spills into her and he collapses on top of her, the weight totally and completely welcome.

 

“You’re amazing, Emma,” he presses kisses against her face, anywhere he can reach before lightly brushing his lips against the bruise that’s come into full effect. “Bloody amazing. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

 

He kisses that spot on her shoulder, and she whispers her love to him against his skin. “You’re not too bad yourself, detective,” she sighs, running her hands over the scratch marks on his back, a weird sense of satisfaction running through her over the fact that she put those there.

 

She can feel Killian softening inside of her, so he pulls out with a slight hiss, and she immediately feels empty even when he’s heading over to the kitchen and giving her a view of his ass as she tries to clench her legs together so his cum doesn’t get onto the couch. Luckily Killian is back with a warm washcloth and wiping her down in a move that’s not new but suddenly more gentle than usual.

 

When he’s pulling away she has to tug on his wrist so that his lips meet hers, just a chaste way to say thank you for simply being here. And, you know, the mind blowing sex.

 

“Killian?”

 

“Yes, my love?”

 

The corners of her lips tug up at the ‘my’ in front of the love as she reaches to caress his face. He looks happy. She’s happy. She hopes that he is, too.

 

“Can you put the peas on the coffee table back in the freezer and get me the other bag? As much as _I_ enjoyed that, my _eye_ did not.”

 

Killian looks at her so tenderly, the black desire of his eyes from earlier fading into a much softer blue more similar to the ocean than anything else. “Did I hurt you?”

 

“Killian, no. That was fucking fantastic. We are never going that long without doing that again.”

 

“Oh yeah?” he questions, leaning down over her so that his lips are mere centimeters above hers, his breath intermingling with hers.

 

“Yeah,” she sighs, quickly capturing his bottom lip between hers, “I might even let you do it in public.”

 

“Swan,” Killian gasps, pulling back from her to put his hand over his heart, lips parted in surprise, “I didn’t know you were such an exhibitionist.”

 

He’s got a throw pillow in his face before she finds the words to respond to him. “I meant that you can kiss me in front of people…in front of David. In front of whoever the hell you want.”

 

Killian’s eyes light up, round saucers that make him look ten years younger because of how joyful he looks. It only lasts for a moment, though, before his features are schooled and he looks as if he could be doing his taxes. She’s confused, her head pounding a bit from her black eye, and doesn’t understand how he could switch between emotions that quickly.

 

“I was really looking forward to the exhibitionist thing, though.” He’s falsely pouting at her, the corners of his mouth ticking up just the slightest bit, seemingly without his permission. “Think about it, Swan. We could do it at the station, right there on my desk in the middle of the bullpen, possibly with handcuffs. Yours or mine. It doesn’t matter. Or maybe even at the grocery store…right next to the frozen peas you seem to love so much.”

 

At that, he walks out of the room, formerly frozen peas in hand on his way to get a new bag for her eye, and suddenly she’s got an image of the two of them going at it like animals next to the frozen food aisle in a Whole Foods.

 

Talk about filling a different kind of hole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the original end of the story, but the next chapter was a special request for David finding out about the two of them :D


	3. Chapter Three (extra)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the story is technically officially finished with part two, but this is for people who wanted what happens when David finds out about the two of them.

Emma can feel the sleep fading away from her eyes while Killian’s calloused fingers run up and down her arms, the feeling so familiar that she thinks it might be real instead of the last remnants of her dream. But then even as her eyes flutter open, sleep still sticking to her eyelashes, she sees a blurry version of the man staring down at her, the vibrant blue of his eyes the only thing clear about him until her eyes fully open and everything about last night (or really _early_ this morning) comes rushing back to her. So maybe reality is a little bit better than her dreams.

 

“Good morning, sunshine.” Killian leans down to press a kiss against her bruised eyelid, and it only stings a little. “You look beautiful this morning.”

 

Oh, he’s really cheesy, and she finds it adorable…even if she won’t readily admit that, closing her eyes to try to hang onto sleep even with Killian staring down at her.

 

“I probably look like I got roughed up last night.”

 

“Well you did…in more ways than one.”

 

She rolls her eyes even with them closed, so Killian won’t know that she did that but she will. And that’s all that really matters.

 

“Shut up,” she groans before opening her eyes and pushing up on her elbows in order to peck Killian’s lips and then falling back against the mattress. “Do you have work this morning?”

 

“I took the day off because I’ve been working a lot of overtime the past few weeks.”

 

Guilt rushes through her because he’s confirming that he was working extra because of their time apart, and as much as she suspected that, it still hurts to know that he was hurting because of her. They both messed up, handled things badly, and she really wishes they hadn’t gone through that, even if it led them to here.

 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes before reaching out to caress his face, his scruff tickling her palm as she holds him. “I’m sorry that I was such an idiot and for all the hurt I caused you.”

 

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, love. Tis in the past.”

 

His eyes are extra blue in the morning, and she’s going to have to learn to appreciate that more.

 

“Killian, I hurt you. I do have to be sorry for it.”

 

“Well, I hurt you as well. Neither of us is blameless.”

 

“Yeah, but we didn’t have to go through any of this if…you know, once I realized we weren’t just fuck buddies or whatever, I’d just allowed us to be more. Allowed us to just be us around others.”

 

“Emma, my darling,” Killian falls back against the mattress before pulling Emma over so that she’s resting on top of him, the bareness of their bodies distracting while they’ve having this far-too-serious-for-this-early-in-the-morning conversation, “I have forgiven you. I hope that you’ve forgiven me. And if it’s okay with you, I hope that we learn from our past and don’t repeat those mistakes.”

 

“I think that sounds like a marvelous plan.”

 

Killian’s left eyebrow raises while his lips upturn, and she already knows that he’s got something mischievous planned even before he flips her over and presses a hungry kiss against her lips, devouring her mouth while his hands begin to explore the parts of her body that his own isn’t already covering. She feels her face throb from the aftereffects of her black eye, but the wondrous place between her thighs is throbbing so much more, especially as Killian starts to roll his hips into hers, his half-hard length brushing against her folds.

 

The groan Killian emits resonates throughout her entire body, and she’s nothing but a pile of mush underneath him, especially when his lips release hers and start traveling down her body, stopping to lavish both of her breasts while her hands stay anchored in his hair to keep his lips sucking on her nipple.  

 

“Oh,” she moans when his teeth harshly bite down on her, and that moan shoots straight to her core along with Killian’s fingers that have begun teasing at her folds. “That’s…that’s so good.”

 

Killian releases her nipple with a pop before looking up at her and winking. “I know, darling. You forget. I know your body and exactly how to please it.” He pops the “t” of the “it” and like the goddamn tease that he is, begins circling her clit with his fingers before quickly moving them away just as she was starting to get some pleasure from it.

 

“I hate you,” she groans, bucking up her hips to try to get some friction that he just took away from her.

 

“No,” he coos, kissing down her stomach and moving his body until he’s nestled between her thighs, kissing the inside of both of them before letting out a breath right at her glistening folds and _oh god_ , “you love me.”

 

At that, his tongue makes contact with her folds, licking a stripe up them, and she throws her head back against her pillow and moans while she tries to keep her hips from bucking up into him as his scruff brushes the inside of her thighs. That doesn’t last long because Killian is pointedly avoiding her bundle of nerves as he devours her, alternating lapping at her folds and breathing against the sensitive flesh, and it’s driving her crazy. Just not driving her crazy enough, and they both know it. When she does try to push her hips up to get more friction, he doesn’t let her, pressing his forearms against her thighs and her  tomach to keep her from getting exactly what she wants.

 

The damn cheeky bastard.

 

“You,” she breathes while reaching down to toy with her nipples, pinching them to soothe the ache that’s building within her, “are the worst. I can’t – I can’t come like this.”

 

“I know,” he fucking stops his ministrations to look up and smirk at her, and payback is totally going to be a bitch later.

 

She can’t take it anymore, his tongue teasing at her entrance but never doing anything about it, just small little thrusts that build the pressure in her stomach before quickly knocking it down. She’s had enough, reaching down to root her fingers in his hair and push him against her clit, and when Killian groans against the neglected bundle, she thinks she might die right then and there because it feels _so fucking good_.

 

Every bad thought she just had about Killian fades away as his tongue starts working at her clit, circling it and changing the rhythm from fast to slow, sometimes biting at the nerves to cause her to push up into his face because this, this is the man she loves finally bringing her the pleasure she craves.

 

The pressure has moved from tiny bursts to a budding bigger one, and she’s just about to fall when a series of knocks bangs against her front door.

 

Her eyes go wide, but Killian keeps working at her, teasing her and pushing her further and further and, “oh my god, right there.”

 

The knocks at the door keep coming, a pounding that is entirely different than the one between her thighs, and she’s definitely ignoring one while reveling in the other.

She doesn’t think the knocking at the door is every going to go away, but it’s not like she can do anything about it. It’s not like she _wants_ to do anything about it, especially when Killian mumbles “ignore it” against her nerves before brushing his teeth against her and then she’s gone, the pressure bursting as her orgasm courses through her and she can’t hear anything but her heartbeat in her ears.

 

It doesn’t last long, but that’s okay because Killian has moved up her body so that he’s kissing her, the taste of her essence on his tongue as it swirls with hers and the press of his velvety erection against her thigh. As far as she can tell, the pounding on the door has stopped, so whatever solicitor it was has obviously given up, and she can just focus on getting down to business with Killian.

 

“I love you,” she sighs against his lips almost like it’s instinct and she’s not still terrified of the fact that they’ve admitted their love to each other.

 

“I love you, too, Swan.” He pushes off of her and tugs her with him so that she’s flipping over onto her stomach. “Push up on your knees for me, love.”

 

She does without question, pushing her ass up against Killian’s length, and as much as she loves his mouth on her, there’s nothing like his cock inside of her. He’s got one hand grasped against her hip as the other guides his length into her sensitive folds, pushing in in one quick motion and filling her like she so desires.

 

“Oh fuck,” they both moan as the un-bruised side of face rests against the mattress and his rests against her back, kissing down her spine while his hands massage his ass, and he stays completely still inside of her, just the slight pulsing of him mixed in with the fluttering of her walls.

 

“You’re so brilliant, love,” Killian coos as he begins moving inside of her, a gentle snap of his hips as he pushes and pulls against her. “Bloody beautiful.”

 

_Damn, that’s good._

 

“Half of my face is black and blue,” she sighs as his pace picks up, and even if they rekindled their romance or sexual dalliances or love or whatever the hell this is last night, she could never get enough of him, enough of this. He feels so good inside of her, especially with how sensitive she is from him eating her out already.

 

“Aye,” he laughs against her while his body moves to cover hers so that he can kiss the back of her neck, moving up to that sensitive place behind her hear before whispering, “that’s why I said _bloody_ beautiful instead of just beautiful.”

 

God, he’s so stupid. Stupid but hot and beautiful, and how can he be making jokes about her black eye while he’s pounding into her like a man who hasn’t had sex in years?

 

She laughs at his joke before her laugh turns into a gasp and that gasp turns into a moan as one of his hands leaves her hips to snake under her stomach and move against her clit, flicking his fingers against it to keep bringing her higher.

 

His thrusts begin to become erratic, and she knows he’s close when he grittily grunts out, “please tell me you’re close, love.”

 

She is, especially if he keeps flicking against her clit like he is.

 

“I’m close,” she promises, and somehow the man manages to hold himself back until she reaches her peak, spilling himself into her several thrusts later, the both of them collapsing on the bed, bodies slick with sweat and breaths heavy.

 

She’s going to have to clean the sheets later, and it’s a good thing she has a day off…and wow is she really thinking about cleaning when she just had several orgasms? That doesn’t seem quite right, but she can’t think too much right now.

 

Her phone starts ringing from its place on the nightstand, and as much as she’d like to ignore it and spend the day wrapped up in Killian, she gets calls so rarely that she doesn’t want to miss it. David’s name and face show up on her screen, and her recently calmed heart starts beating quickly, almost like he can somehow see what she was just doing, which is ridiculous. And besides, one day he’s going to know what she was just doing and who she was doing it with…maybe not in such graphic detail because, well, that’s her brother and he doesn’t need her sex life details. But she told Killian they could tell David, and she meant it. She’s just a little nervous of how he’ll react. She’s a grown ass woman and can live her own damn life however she wants, but David’s always been the slightest bit overprotective of her and she just doesn’t know how he’ll react to her being with his best friend.

 

It’s what initially kept her away from Killian, no matter how ridiculous that seems now, but she’s not staying away from Killian now. No way.

 

“Hello,” she answers after swiping her finger across the screen, and Killian’s staring at her from his position on the bed next to her, still gloriously naked even though he’s pulled her comforter up over their bodies, not so subtly leaving her breasts uncovered. “David?”

 

“Well good morning, sunshine,” David greets while Killian mumbles something about how it’s not quite the same as when he greeted her this morning…and thank goodness for that. “Are you at home?”

 

“Uh yeah,” Emma speaks slowly, trying to figure out why he would want to know that as Killian begins to run his lips against her shoulder, lingering there and breathing her in. “Why?”

 

“I knocked earlier, but you must have been asleep. So I went and got us some coffee and food because I wanted to check on you after you called last night. You sounded a little down and said something about how you were getting the beginnings of a black eye from your skip.”

 

“Oh well that’s sweet, but you didn’t have to do that. I’m fine. You can go home.”

 

“I’m already back at the door.”

 

She hears the tell tale signs of a fist against the wood, and both she and Killian practically spring out of bed, Emma struggling into some clothes still talking to David before hanging up the call while Killian runs his bare ass into the living room to pick up their clothes from last night.

 

When he returns he’s got his boxers on and his jeans hanging open on his hips while his t-shirt and jacket hang over his arm, and she didn’t realize his hair was sticking all over the place until he came back into the bedroom scratching his ear…and Killian is nervous.

 

“What are we going to do?” He’s fidgeting, and it’s honestly kind of adorable. “Do we tell him today, love? Or should we wait and do it when I finally return to the weekly dinners? I imagine he’s not going to be too pleased with me because I’ve only seen him once in the past month, and I got a little too, well, I imbibed in a few too many spirits and probably haven’t been the best of mates.”

 

“Hey,” Emma soothes, stepping up to him and rising on her toes so that she can wrap her arms around his neck, “don’t be nervous. I feel like we’ve flipped roles a bit here, but I think we tell him today, clear the air, and then you and me, we’re going to go on a date.”

 

His eyebrows raise while his hands grab her hips and pull her closer to him, their bodies and breaths intermingling while they ignore the more pressing issue here. “A date you say?”

 

“Yeah, a proper one. And if it’s a good one, maybe you’ll even get lucky at the end of the night.”

 

Killian laughs before dipping his head down to press a sweet kiss against her lips, and before she even knows what’s happening, he’s releasing her and striding out of her bedroom and to the front door like a man possessed and oh boy this can’t be good. Killian unlocks all of the latches before flinging the door open, and she can see David’s slack-jawed expression before she can even stop Killian from doing this.

 

He didn’t even put his t-shirt back on.

 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Killian greets, and oh god why is he the way that he is? “Is this coffee for me? Thanks so much?”

 

Killian takes one of the coffees out of David’s hand, and it’s that contact that has David’s gaze moving from Killian to her then back to Killian, and while normally they could and would play it off as Killian just visiting or some crap like that, the both of them are too disheveled for David to not figure it out. Hell, the apartment probably smells like sex.

 

And then, you know, Killian doesn’t even have a damn shirt on.

 

“Did you two,” David begins, his feet still firmly planted outside of the door, and Emma literally sees his eyes darken while he studies them. “You did,” he concludes, and Emma has no idea what to do, and she can’t see Killian’s face to know how he’s feeling. “Killian, what the hell drove you to having rebound sex with my sister?”  
  


She’s got no idea what David is talking about with this rebound sex thing, but his tone is angry, and she’s got to step in before someone gets punched. She likes to think that these two can handle themselves, but they both can have a temper when provoked.

 

“Killian didn’t have rebound sex with me,” she insists, wrapping her arms around Killian’s right forearm and pulling herself into his side even if she doesn’t really know what’s going on.

 

“Yes, he did,” David insists, fully stepping into the apartment and closing the door behind him, “he came to me two weeks ago and got drunk blubbering on and on about how he’s in love with this girl and had to end things with her, and I told him rebound sex was not the way to go even when he kept insisting there was no way he was going to even think about sleeping with someone else. And yet he’s picked you of all people, and I don’t want you getting attached to Killian because he’s emotionally unavailable right now. I always thought you two would be good together, but not like this.”

 

“Emma’s the girl, Dave.”

 

David looks about like she did when she took calculus.

 

“What girl?”

 

“The girl I’m in love with, the girl who I’d been sleeping with who I loved and broke things off with. She’s it. She’s the one.”

 

David furrows his brows, and she would have missed it if she blinked, but she sees his lips tick up just the slightest bit before he forces them back down into a frown at the realization that his best friend is in love with his sister.

 

“And I, uh, I love him,” Emma admits before anything else is said, squeezing Killian’s arm, “and as much as I appreciate how much you love the both of us and want to protect us, we can make our own decisions, okay? So…yeah. It’s all out there. I love Killian. Killian loves me. We’ve been sleeping together since your twenty eighth birthday, but we weren’t officially together until about one this morning. And that’s all you get to or need to know.”

 

“So the woman you were so upset over,” David voices, his gaze quickly moving between the two of them, “is Emma? And this has been happening for over two years, and I’ve never noticed. Huh.”

 

David’s obviously going to need some time to process all of this information, so Emma gently guides him to the couch, sitting him down and grabbing his remaining cup of coffee and the bag of donuts before heading into the kitchen to get a pot of coffee started for when David realizes that she and Killian stole the coffee he brought.

 

This stuff is good, so it’s totally worth it.

 

Killian sits in the recliner in the living room, and she can hear he and David talking about all of this, and when she hears David laugh at Killian’s joke about Emma probably being a better roommate than David, she doesn’t even freak out over the fact that Killian is hinting that he may want to live with her in the near future. Eventually the coffee maker beeps, the smell of the liquefied beans wafting throughout the apartment, and when Emma hands David his cup, he thanks her and kisses her cheek, smiling when he pulls back to lean against the couch.

 

Surprisingly, they don’t really talk about this new development or dynamic among them, not even when Emma climbs into the recliner with Killian, sitting on his lap as his arms wrap around her waist and his lips press against her hair. It’s nice, being able to have this kind of casual intimacy with him. They’d had it before, but it feels different now that they are out in the open with each other and out in the open with David.

 

David’s still got to go to work at the courthouse, the only law-enforcement member of the three of them working today, so he leaves about an hour later, after checking on Emma’s eye and on her emotions, hugging her so tightly that her face is buried in the warmth of his chest while his hand is buried in the hair at the back of her head.

 

“I’m happy for you, kid,” he whispers into her ear before pulling back and kissing her forehead. “It’s a little weird, but there’s no one I would trust with your heart more than Killian. He’s a good guy, and the both of you deserve to be happy. I’m glad you finally came around and stopped hiding your feelings for him.”

 

“I thought you said you didn’t know about us.”

 

“I didn’t,” David promises, opening up the front door and stepping out, “but I know you. And I know that you always deny your feelings, so for you to admit them to Killian, that’s a big deal.” He smiles before taking another step away, nodding at Killian behind her. “Bye, Ems. I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

David closes the door behind him, and after she locks it back, she turns to see Killian smiling down at her, his eyes crinkling at the fullness of his grin.

 

“What?” she asks, stepping into the kitchen and opening the fridge despite the fact that she just ate some donuts. A girl’s got to eat after so much activitiy.

 

“Your brother likes us together.”

 

“I know. I heard him.”

 

“Isn’t that why we kept this thing secret to begin with? Because you thought he’d flip out?”

 

“I think he would have flipped out if you were just using me for sex and vice versa, but things are different now than they were then.”

 

“Aye,” Killian confirms, stepping behind her and closing the refrigerator door so that the burst of cool air that was soothing her eye disappears, “they are. And because of that, my darling Emma Swan, I’d like you to go ice your eye again while I make you some pancakes.”

 

“Donuts and pancakes in one day? That can’t be healthy.”

 

“Would you rather have some peas?”

 

She sticks her tongue out and scrunches her face. “God, no. Those are disgusting.”

 

“Then off you go, Swan.” He places an ice compress in her hand and swats both ass cheeks as he shoos her away to the other side of the island. “I’ve got things to heat things up in the kitchen, and for one of the first times ever, one of those things is not you.”

 

“You sound like you’re used to cooking me or something.”

 

“Cooking you, no. That’d be incredibly disturbing.” He smirks and leans over the counter to whisper against her lips, “Eating you, oh most definitely.”


End file.
